


Together

by ds9trekkie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys Kissing, Bunker Sex, Coda, Codependency, Comfort Sex, Crying, Established Relationship, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Kissing, Love, M/M, Making Love, Men Crying, Nightmares, One Shot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s13e22 Exodus, Self-Hatred, Simultaneous Orgasm, Smut, Wincest - Freeform, kinda lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 16:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14719433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ds9trekkie/pseuds/ds9trekkie
Summary: Dean really hates himself. It’s so incredibly fucked up that he’s about to come thinking about his brother promising not to die again without him. However, he won’t pretend he didn’t need to hear that. Because Sam’s just as much of a codependent mess as he is, a fact Dean shouldnotfind solace in.





	Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wayward_Daughter_16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayward_Daughter_16/gifts).



> First fic of the hiatus! Codependent Winchesters are back at it again :D Angst, Dean’s self hated, a smidge of John Winchester shade and lots of talking about death. Happy ending tho? I think so lol Enjoy!

“DEAN!” Sam screams, forced to his knees while blood spurts from his veins like some disturbing fountain. All the color leaves his petrified face, his body crumbling, weak as a newborn baby.  
Yelling his throat hoarse, Dean’s trapped and useless as he watches Sam get dragged away into the shadows. Dean can’t see him anymore and he doesn’t know what’s worse.

Dean bolts upright, drenched in his own sweat and gasping for air. His body _hurts_ , every muscle painfully tense from the stress only repetitive nightmares can evoke.

Trembling hands claw fruitlessly at the damp sheet, his little brother’s name falling clumsily from his dry lips.

“Sa- Sam...”

He can’t find him. Sam’s gone. Cold and dead in a cave....and Dean left him there. Alone, broken and abandoned like he’s not the most cherished thing in existence. Sad green eyes well up with unwanted tears and burn their way down Dean’s face. The bedroom is pitch black and all Dean can think over and over is _he left his brother._

“Hey,” Sam croaks, his voice thick with sleep.

Relief floods through him so intensely he feels lightheaded. Strong arms wrap around Dean’s torso and pull him in from behind. Dean flinches at first, his brain still a couple steps behind, but eventually he relaxes against Sam’s broad bare chest. Sam’s here, alive and holding him. 

“You’re okay,” Sam mumbles, his lips ghosting the shell of Dean’s ear.

Dean almost laughs. He’s definitely not okay. And neither is Sam. Dean doesn’t remember what being “okay” feels like. For so long, simply ending up not _dead_ at the end of the day has been their standard quality of life.

There’s silence for a long time. Dean obsessively listens to Sam’s heart, breathing deeper and feeling calmer with every precious beat. They’re in Sam’s room. Thirty plus people currently residing in the bunker and Dean didn’t even try to hide the fact that he and Sam went to bed together. After what they went through, rescuing everyone and offering them their home as shelter, Dean couldn’t give a flying fuck who might be silently judging them.

He remembers how he took his brother’s hand and directed him to the shower. Sam’s already healed wounds mocking him as he washed them, simultaneously hating and thanking the Devil. There was nothing in the world that Dean ever needed more than to take care of Sam in that moment. A task he’s prioritized his entire life and _failed._ Sam allowed him his penance, didn’t attempt to fight or stop him. He automatically leaned back against the shower wall and let Dean perform his duty, a pitiful imitation of fixing what happened. Sam understood, it wasn’t the right time to push Dean to talk, but now might have to be.

Sam sighs and places a barely there kiss at the base of Dean’s neck, “Dean.” It’s an invitation, an opportunity to extract a little of the pain Dean carries so militarily. 

But that’s his breaking point. Sam saying his name has always been a source of comfort, but now all Dean can hear is his baby brother’s last word, ringing cruelly with the echo of death.

Dean turns around, fully clambering into Sam’s lap and burying his face in his neck, subconsciously making sure the skin there is still sealed, that no blood is leaking out.

“You said together.” Dean’s never felt more vulnerable in his entire, sorry life. Sam’s breath hitches and he hugs Dean closer. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, if he can’t see anything maybe the world can’t see him back. He briefly thinks of John, at how disgusted he’d be to see Dean fall apart like this.

Not a sliver of light penetrates the darkness, but Dean feels like an ant under the scorching suffocation of a magnifying glass.

“You said...you said we’d die together.”

Sam doesn’t answer with words, he can’t because the cold truth is there are none. He grabs Dean’s face and brings their lips together on pure instinct. Dean spirals, immediately kissing back and licking into the safety of his brother’s warm mouth. 

They didn’t fuck after showering, they couldn’t. Too raw, too fragile, too overwhelmed to do anything but hold each other. Now, Dean can’t imagine anything but Sam’s hands all over him, that familiar grounding caress the only thing able to elicit a feeling other than hopelessness. 

He groans when Sam slips out of his sweatpants and begins tugging at Dean’s. Half hard, Sam takes out Dean’s cock. He strokes and massages him, the way only _he_ can. Dean’s soul, constantly bogged down with endless burden, feels lighter, maybe even _happy_ when Sam touches him like this.

Dean reaches for Sam’s dick, his own pleasure spiking when he hears Sam moan at the contact, a sound so sweet Dean wants it to be his goddamn ringtone.

Much too quickly, sloppy kisses and tentative stroking aren’t enough. “Need...”

What Dean needs is to see Sam, he needs lube, he needs to get into a more comfortable position. Apparently reading his mind, Sam retreats and Dean instantly takes it all back, nothing’s worth Sam stopping, _leaving,_ even for a second.

“Lay down,” Sam says to him, followed by the low click of the light on the nightstand. There’s reassurance in the command, Sam’s not going too far.

Dean does what he says, half out of exhaustion and half out of necessity. Already having been shirtless, he curls up on his side and kicks off the tangle of pants still around his feet. It feels good to be naked, inside and out. 

The soft glow from the lamp illuminates Sam’s beautiful features, he looks ethereal and Dean wants to cry again.

When Sam rejoins him, he collapses onto the mattress, head on the pillow and facing Dean. Holding eye contact, Sam smears some lube on Dean’s hand and then proceeds to coat his own. 

Sam starts touching him again, slowly jacking him to full hardness. Dean whines at the sensation, Sam’s hand is hot but the lube is wickedly cold. Magnetically, Dean mirrors Sam’s actions, pumping his brother’s cock at the same perfect pace.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispers, and Dean can’t handle it. None of this is Sam’s fault, _none_ of it.

“Don’t.” Dean doesn’t even recognize his own voice, a distant foreign thing.

“I’m sorry,” Sam repeats stubbornly, moving his hand faster. “I promised.”

Dean matches the new rhythm, his dick aching and his heart racing. He scoots closer, shutting Sam up with more kisses, wet and desperate. Their cock’s are mere inches apart and Dean wants more, wants to feel Sam on him in the way nature intended.

He shoves his dick back into his own hand next to Sam’s, swiping up their mutual precome and starts rutting.

“Fuck,” Sam pants against his lips, covering Dean’s hand with his own to help them along. 

Fucking up into the mutual fist they’ve created, Dean’s on the edge. Sam’s giving him that look, the one he’s always looked at Dean with. It conveys _everything_ , admiration, loyalty, selflessness...love.

“Sammy,” Dean whines, thrusting his hips with wild precision. He can tell Sam’s getting close too, the noises he makes tend to get more primal, a litany of animalistic grunting.

“Never again, Dean, promise...” Sam starts up again, “We’ll be together. Never leaving you again.”

 _Shit._ Dean really hates himself. It’s so incredibly fucked up that he’s about to come thinking about his brother promising not to die again without him. However, he won’t pretend he didn’t need to hear that. Because Sam’s just as much of a codependent mess as he is, a fact Dean should _not_ find solace in.

“Yeah, okay, yeah,” Dean replies, his orgasm building higher and higher.

“Dean!”

 _Fuck._ Dean needed to hear that too. His name on Sam’s tongue, packed with passion and pleasure instead of fear and agony.

“Come with me, Sammy.”

Bred into him, Sam always comes when Dean tells him to. They come hard and long, swollen cocks shooting their release freely between them. 

“Together,” he hums, gradually easing them down.

Sam’s lips are a vibrant red, puffy and slick with Dean’s spit. He smiles, just a simple curve of his mouth that makes Dean want to exist in this bubble forever, with nothing left but that _smile._

“Together,” Sam reiterates. Hands soaked, hearts full, and souls singing the same song, Dean thinks this might be peace.

The fuzzy feeling in his chest reminds Dean that all of this might be really fucked up, but it’s not a suicide pact. It’s an inevitability. When the time comes, their souls will rest together always.

“Not yet though, okay?” Dean confirms. There’s work to do, experiences to be had and he’s not ready to give up on this life yet, not when he has his Sammy by his side. 

Sam’s smile widens, bright and pure, “Not yet.”


End file.
